


counting down

by dragonsinparis



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-07
Updated: 2012-07-07
Packaged: 2017-11-09 09:45:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonsinparis/pseuds/dragonsinparis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anna is brilliant, clever and resourceful, and she survived without her mother for nearly a century and a half.  But as soon as Pearl died, Anna’s days were numbered.  Damon knows the world isn’t fair but he kind of thinks that that borders on downright obnoxious, which is a funny thought to be having given that he’s about to die too.</p><p>(basically: Damon watches Anna die.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	counting down

He smells the gasoline, and he starts bracing himself for the heat.

He's never really feared the sun. For most of his hundred and sixty plus years, he hasn't really had reason to. Much as he's a fan of embracing the whole vampire imagery, he'd give up everything he owns before he'd give up that ring. And it's not about the freedom, really - although admittedly after eight hours stuck indoors he actually starts contemplating Stefan’s Bon Jovi collection and calculating how many witty comebacks he needs to balance out what his brother will say if he comes home early. 

(So maybe it’s partly about the freedom.)

But he was never a night person when he was alive. When he was walking home after deserting the Confederate army - what a chore _that_ ridiculous nonsense had been - he would find a field and lie in it for hours with his eyes closed, feeling his skin tighten and warm against the heat from above.

And he hopes now, absently, that if he closes his eyes he’ll be able to fool himself for a second, thinking of that, remembering what he shouldn’t have been able to feel for a hundred and forty-five years. If this situation didn’t _suck_ so bad, he’d kind of revel in being a cheater.

He opens his eyes and there - swimming through the haze that’s mucking up his vision - is Anna, little wide-eyed Annabelle, lying on the floor so close and still ages away. He doesn’t really feel any older than he did when he turned - age is a mark of strength and cunning, a goal, a milepost, but never an indication of acquired wisdom for vampires - and he can’t help but wonder where she fell on the child-to-adult spectrum when she was turned. Did she turn her mother, or did her mother turn her? In any other case, it would be easy to guess, but there’s a war in his mind here: a little girl unable to lose her mother to time or circumstance battles a mother who could not leave her daughter behind. He has no doubt that either way, one killed the other and guided them back gently, so gently, in a place that was cool and clear and didn’t smell like gasoline. 

And now Pearl is dead, and the part of Anna that could never shed childhood is weeping, begging, pulling weakly at that bastard who is never going to have mercy on her, even if his nephew is probably the only human she ever really cared about in however many years it’s been since her mother was sealed away. Anna is brilliant, clever and resourceful, and she survived without her mother for nearly a century and a half. But as soon as Pearl died, Anna’s days were numbered. 

Damon knows the world isn’t fair but he kind of thinks that that borders on downright _obnoxious_ , which is a funny thought to be having given that he’s about to die too.

Poor little Annabelle. He never really noticed her when she was alive. Or when he thought she was. It’s funny to think how much older she is than him. He reminds himself that she’s still a child, numbers aside. A child above whom stands the uncle of the boy she loves, who is about to - 

Damon is surprised he can feel the ache in his chest over the vervain and the smell of gasoline.

She turns grey even as the flames rise; he reminds himself she’s had so many more years than he has, so many more than almost anyone he knows, goddamn Katherine aside. It doesn’t help. Part of her is still that child, has always been that child, and even that part can’t scream now as the heat swallows them both.


End file.
